CHAPTER 224: CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY FOUR

The kitchen was the warmest room in the house, filled with the golden light of the late afternoon sun and the comforting aroma of simmering beef and herbs. Delia was humming a happy, aimless tune, the sound a soft and cheerful counterpoint to the gentle bubbling of the pot on the stove. After weeks of tension and turmoil, this quiet, simple peace felt like the greatest of luxuries.

She was making beef stew, a recipe from a book she had bought in town some days ago. The book was propped open on the counter, its pages still crisp and clean. Eric was in his study, buried in ledger after ledger from his new responsibilities at Carson Textiles. She had decided to surprise him, to cook for both of them, to create a small pocket of normalcy in their extraordinary lives.

"Add vegetables," she said aloud to herself, her finger tracing the words in the recipe book. Her voice was light and happy. "Add chopped carrots and turnips. Cook for five to seven minutes, stirring occasionally."

She turned to the chopping board where a small, lopsided pile of carrots and turnips sat. Her knife skills were not the most refined. Some pieces were thick and chunky, others thin and delicate. It was a charmingly clumsy effort. She scooped the unevenly chopped vegetables with her small hands, but in her haste, a few stray pieces of carrot tumbled from her grasp and scattered across the clean kitchen floor. With a small sigh and a smile, she picked them up, gave them a quick rinse, and added them to the pot with the rest, stirring the colorful mixture with a large wooden spoon.

Just then, as she was focused on the swirling contents of the pot, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind. A familiar, comforting weight settled against her back. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. She leaned back into his embrace, a contented smile on her face.

"Are you done with your work already?" she asked, continuing to stir the stew.

Eric murmured a soft "yes" against the side of her neck, his voice a low, warm rumble. He pressed a gentle kiss just below her ear, making her shiver slightly. "Smells good," he said, his nose buried in her hair.

She laughed, a light, happy sound. "Really? It’s not as good as yours, I’m sure, but I think it will be delicious."

"Don’t say that," he scolded her gently, his arms tightening around her. "As long as it’s your hands that made it, it will surpass anything I could ever make."

Delia giggled. "You are such a tease."

Eric stayed in the same position, his chin resting on her shoulder as she continued to cook. Delia looked back at her recipe book. "Add broth and wine," she read. She carefully slipped out of his embrace to bring the mentioned ingredients from the pantry. "Add beef broth and red wine and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat."

As she turned back to the pot, Eric’s eyes fell on the dress she was wearing. It was a simple day dress, but the fabric had a unique, almost liquid quality, and the color was a deep, complex gray that seemed to shift in the light. "This textile is nice," he said, reaching out to feel the material between his fingers. "And the color is very unique. Is it from Ellington Textiles? One of yours?"

She nodded as she turned to face him, a bottle of red wine in her hand. "They are part of my creations, yes. From a long time ago. I found a box of them when we were organizing the house. I wanted to dispose of them, actually. They are all so dark and gloomy."

"Don’t," Eric said, his voice serious. He looked her up and down, his gaze warm and admiring. "They look beautiful on you."

Delia chuckled, a flush of pleasure on her cheeks as she turned back to the pot. She poured in the broth and the wine, then added the browned beef back into the stew, seasoning it with salt and pepper. "Since when did you like my dark and gloomy dyes?" she teased. "Not that you have ever seen much of them."

"I like everything about you," he said simply, his sincerity making her heart skip a beat.

"Come to think of it," she continued, her mind drifting back to the past, "you know the Baroness sells my dyes abroad?"

"Yes," Eric replied, his tone hardening slightly at the mention of Augusta.

"There’s one that I really want back," Delia said, her voice growing wistful. "It was more than just a dye. It was used on a bolt of silk I wove myself. It was an engagement gift... to myself." She let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "The Baroness took it from me. She said I shouldn’t insult George, by acting like he couldn’t buy me bolts of silks. I’m not sure what she did with it, but I’m sure it has not been sewn. I’ve asked everywhere, done my own personal investigations, but I still couldn’t find it. It has a very weird, unique color, so it’s not hard to miss."

Eric’s expression was gentle. "What’s it like?"

She looked off into the distance, remembering. "Like grey storm clouds. I used to think that my life was like a storm cloud—dark, colorless, and filled with a constant rain of tears." She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, her gaze soft and full of love. "Until I met you."

She pulled his head down slightly, her voice a low, intimate whisper. "You became the sunny sky, chasing out all the dark clouds and filling my life with colors. So many bright, beautiful colors. Like a spring garden."

Eric held her waist, pulling her close. "Well, winter is just around the corner," he murmured against her lips. "So spring will come sooner than you think. And I will be very happy to spend it, and every season after, with you."

They kissed, a slow, tender kiss. As they broke the kiss, Eric kept his arms around her waist, his forehead resting against hers. "What should we do when spring comes?" he asked, a boyish, excited glint in his eye. "I have an idea."

"What?" Delia asked, smiling.

"We will get our civil marriage registration," he replied.

The smile on Delia’s face froze for a second. "What?"

"Why are you so surprised?" he asked, pulling back slightly to look at her. He gave her a playful, boyish look. "Were you planning to leave me after our one-year contract was up?"

Delia let out a nervous chuckle as she turned away from him and went to put off the stove, her heart suddenly beating a little too fast. "What do you mean? Of course not." The stew was done. She turned back to him. "I just..." Her voice trailed off. Her gaze fell to her own wrist, to the small, delicate tattoo of the rose bud that was usually hidden by her sleeves.

Eric noticed her hesitation, the shadow that had suddenly passed over her happy expression. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

She looked up from her wrist and forced a bright smile. She made a decision, a choice to push down the fear and embrace the happiness that was right in front of her. "Let’s do it," she said, her voice clear and sure. "I want to."

Eric’s face beamed with a joy so pure and overwhelming it took her breath away. "Really?"

Delia nodded, her smile now genuine.

He let out a whoop of joy and hugged her tightly, lifting her off her feet for a second before setting her down and kissing her forehead with a deep reverence. Delia stayed in his arms, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady, happy beat of his heart.

"I don’t know what will happen to me in the future," she thought, the image of the rose bud still in her mind. " I don’t know what dangers are still waiting. But if this makes him this happy, then why shouldn’t I?"